The smell of gunpowder hung thick in the air. The pressure was climbing exponentially.
The media pen was a snake pit of schadenfreude and manufactured drama. The journalists wielded their microphones like daggers, desperately trying to incite a public brawl. It felt like they were one wrong word away from a literal bloodbath.
Even Daniel Ricciardo, who had just strolled into the pen, immediately sensed the toxic atmosphere. He spun on his heel and walked straight back out.
He had no intention of becoming collateral damage in this war. He preferred to observe the carnage from a safe distance.
Ricciardo literally hopped up onto a metal railing just outside the media zone, his legs swinging casually. Spotting Esteban Ocon and Stoffel Vandoorne wandering toward the slaughterhouse like confused sheep, he waved them over.
"Didn't you see they're throwing punches in there?" Ricciardo stage-whispered, pulling them back from the edge. "Fight Club! Round One! Grab some popcorn."
Yet, at the absolute epicenter of the media storm, the two title protagonists were refusing to engage. They hadn't even exchanged a passing glance.
They were polite. Cordial. Professional. And utterly distant.
It was a flawless facade of PR training, yet the sheer, suffocating hostility radiating between them dropped the temperature in the pen to absolute zero. The contrast between the sweating journalists and the icy drivers was chilling.
"Lewis, Lewis! How are you feeling going into tomorrow?"
Hamilton stood with his arms crossed, his face an impenetrable mask. He immediately adopted a defensive posture. He was a veteran; he knew exactly what narrative the press was hunting for.
"I am ready. I am the defending Champion."
It was a brilliant opening gambit. He didn't raise his voice, but the emphasis on "defending Champion" was a razor-sharp reminder to Kai, and to the world:
I am the King. You are just a challenger.
"What if it comes down to a collision? Would you intentionally crash into him to secure the title?"
It wasn't the first time that weekend a journalist had asked the question. They asked it relentlessly, desperate for a controversial soundbite. They aimed the question at both Kai and Lewis.
But realistically, the question was heavily weighted toward Hamilton. If both cars DNF'd, Hamilton won the title. He was the only one who mathematically benefited from a crash.
"No. I don't give energy to negativity like that," Hamilton replied coldly. "I am only focused on executing my job and delivering for this incredible team. I believe in our crew, and I believe in our pace. If we focus on ourselves and execute our race, the result will follow naturally."
"We are not the ones who need to take desperate risks."
Wait. The subtext hit the media pen like a physical wave.
We are not the ones who need to take risks. Was Hamilton implying that Ferrari and Kai were the ones prepared to resort to dirty tactics out of desperation?
A murmur rippled through the press corps.
The invisible daggers flying through the air suddenly sharpened. The tension in the small space became combustible.
Just a few feet behind Hamilton, Kai's bright, unapologetic laugh cut through the heavy atmosphere.
"Haha. I have always believed that championships are won by fighting on the asphalt, not by calculating probabilities in a spreadsheet. We are racers. We chase the absolute limit. Conservatism is just an excuse for cowardice."
Damn!
Ricciardo gasped from his perch on the railing, barely stopping himself from whistling. Kai had just taken Hamilton's subtle implication, set it on fire, and thrown it straight back.
In an instant, Hamilton became a human pincushion, metaphorically peppered with Kai's verbal arrows.
Yet, Hamilton, still facing away from Kai, didn't flinch. His expression remained totally impassive. He held his ground with the stoicism of a statue in a hurricane.
But... was he truly unaffected?
"Lewis, is this the most important race of your career?"
Hamilton maintained his breezy, detached tone. "To me, it is just another race, another opportunity for a victory. I don't view tomorrow any differently than the rest."
"But," he added smoothly, "I do remember what it felt like fighting for my first championship. It is an emotional rollercoaster. It's thrilling, but it's also incredibly overwhelming. Your head is so full of noise you barely know what you are saying or doing. So, I completely understand how Kai is feeling right now. I'm sure we will have a great race."
Oh, snap!
It was a masterful, condescending counter-strike. Hamilton was explicitly dismissing Kai's aggressive rhetoric as the manic, incoherent babbling of an overwhelmed rookie. He was weaponizing his "understanding" to patronize the younger driver, projecting the aura of a tolerant, forgiving elder statesman dealing with a petulant child.
The journalists immediately swarmed Kai, relaying Hamilton's subtle insults disguised as questions.
"Kai, Lewis has an immense wealth of experience. He has navigated every conceivable crisis and knows exactly how to handle this pressure. For you, this is entirely uncharted territory. Are you mentally prepared to do whatever it takes to end the Mercedes dynasty?"
Kai saw the trap instantly. And he stepped right into it with a massive smile.
"No, I have no idea how to handle it," Kai admitted cheerfully.
"Everything is new to me. Coming into the sport and immediately fighting for a World Championship... people know what it feels like to lose that fight, to feel that regret. But obviously, no one knows what it feels like to succeed on their very first try."
"So yes, it is unfamiliar territory. I'll just have to figure it out as I go."
"As for doing 'whatever it takes'? No, that isn't my style. I prefer to win my battles face-to-face on the asphalt, and leave the politics and the dirty tricks to the people outside the cockpit."
Ricciardo stopped swinging his legs. His face flushed red, his eyes wide with absolute shock and delight.
Kai had just casually ripped the scab off Hamilton's agonizing 2007 rookie failure, reminding the world that Hamilton didn't win on his first try. He explicitly rejected Hamilton's right to lecture him about rookie pressure.
But he didn't stop there. He then casually accused Toto Wolff and Mercedes of relying on dirty politics and FIA favoritism to maintain their dominance.
Wow. That was...
Absolutely fearless.
Kai wasn't just defending himself; he was actively breaking the spine of the Mercedes PR machine.
If Hamilton thought he could use his veteran status to patronize Kai, he had vastly underestimated his opponent. Kai had stared down Maurizio Arrivabene; he certainly wasn't going to be intimidated by Lewis Hamilton. Kai had spent the entire season watching Hamilton preach about "fair racing" while Mercedes executed ruthless political maneuvers behind the scenes. He wasn't buying the saintly act for a second.
Compared to Hamilton's carefully curated, passive-aggressive PR speak, Kai vastly preferred Max Verstappen's blunt, unapologetic hostility.
A freezing wind swept through the media pen. The journalists stopped breathing. They stared wide-eyed, their heads swiveling between Kai and Hamilton like spectators at a tennis match.
Hamilton remained Hamilton. His face was a mask of frost. He maintained his defensive posture, refusing to take the bait and lose his temper on camera.
But even he couldn't completely hide the physical reaction. The muscles in his shoulders and arms were visibly coiled, betraying the silent fury boiling beneath the surface.
Just as Hamilton finally composed himself, preparing to deliver a crushing, calculated response, Kai's voice drifted over the cameras.
"Sorry, I've talked way too much. My mother always told me: speak less, do more. We will let the asphalt do the talking tomorrow. There is no point in standing here debating hypotheticals."
With that, Kai took two steps back and called out over the crowd directly to Hamilton.
"See you tomorrow, Lewis. Looking forward to a great race."
Ricciardo: ...
The Media: ...
No one anticipated that exit. Kai had executed a flawless hit-and-run. Hamilton had just opened his mouth to retaliate, only to watch Kai literally walk away.
He just... walked away.
Kai threw a hand in the air, throwing a casual peace sign over his shoulder as he disappeared down the paddock.
The entire media corps stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded.
Hamilton realized with a sinking feeling that no matter what he said now, he had lost the exchange. He had lost it completely.
Overnight, the entire motorsport world went into a state of hyper-manic hysteria. The paddock was practically vibrating with the threat of mass aneurysms. Regardless of the qualifying results, tomorrow's race was guaranteed to be an absolute bloodbath. Seeing Hamilton's famously composed PR mask crack into a rigid, furious scowl was a sight the paddock hadn't witnessed since Nico Rosberg retired.
Everyone was rubbing their hands together in glee!
Deep into the night, the city surrounding the Yas Marina Circuit finally fell quiet. The track lights powered down, leaving only the brilliant tapestry of desert stars overhead. Looking up at the infinite, sprawling cosmos, it was impossible not to feel a sense of overwhelming awe.
Yet, the digital inferno continued to rage. The entire global F1 community was awake, debating, arguing, and predicting. The hysteria transcended time zones.
After a grueling, emotionally exhausting Saturday, no true motorsport fan could simply go to sleep.
Song Bo certainly couldn't.
He sat cross-legged on the floor of his spacious hotel room, staring intently at the camera lens on his phone. Even though qualifying had ended hours ago, his heart was still hammering against his ribs. He desperately wanted to talk to Kai, but he knew he couldn't intrude. Kai needed absolute focus and rest. Song Bo refused to be a distraction.
So, Song Bo decided to try something entirely new.
Livestreaming!
It was a novel concept for him. Despite boasting over half a million followers on his vlog channel, he had never actually hosted a live broadcast.
Until tonight.
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away in Shanghai, Wang Lin was tossing and turning in his bed like a pancake on a griddle. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to force himself to sleep. Tomorrow was the ultimate decider; he needed his energy. But his brain was a chaotic mess of engine noise and screaming commentators.
His phone buzzed with a notification.
His eyes snapped open. He grabbed his phone and unlocked it, staring at the screen in confusion. A livestream notification?
Clicking the link, he was immediately greeted by Song Bo's round, slightly panicked face. Wang Lin burst out laughing.
Song Bo was squinting at the camera, clearly having no idea what he was doing. "Is this working? Can anyone see me?"
Wang Lin immediately started typing furiously. "Dr. Song! What is the atmosphere like in Abu Dhabi?! Is everyone losing their minds? Are you too hyped to sleep?!"
Song Bo stared blankly at the screen, unsure of where to look, before his eyes finally caught the scrolling chat.
"Kai is the Champion," Song Bo read the username aloud, before chuckling. "Wang Lin, is that you? You can't sleep either? I am literally vibrating here!"
Wang Lin rolled around on his bed, laughing so hard he dropped his phone directly onto his face. He rubbed his nose, listening as Song Bo's voice continued.
"Okay, people are joining. I get it now. They are coming in!"
"Man, qualifying today was absolutely insane! That is exactly why he is the boss!"
One by one, viewers began flooding into the livestream. The rabid, insomniac Chinese F1 fanbase had finally found a digital sanctuary to vent their collective adrenaline.
For the Chinese motorsport community, the events of the 2018 season were unprecedented. It felt completely surreal.
Many of them were following F1 for the very first time, drawn entirely by the fact that Kai was representing China—and all of Asia—on the brink of rewriting global sporting history. The sheer weight of the season finale was overwhelming. They couldn't sleep; they desperately needed to find their tribe and share the madness.
The viewer count skyrocketed so rapidly that Song Bo panicked, his eyes widening as the chat scrolled past at light speed.
"Our chances? As long as the boss is in the car, our chances are 100%!" Song Bo declared, reading a question.
"Is our car slower than the Mercs? Based on practice and quali, yes, unfortunately. The Mercedes is a rocketship around Yas Marina. But remember, our race pace and tire management have been significantly better all year. Sunday is a completely different beast."
"Doctor, who do you think will win? Haha, easy question. The boss."
"So what is the key to the race tomorrow?"
The questions flooded in relentlessly. Song Bo was completely overwhelmed, his exhausted brain struggling to process the sheer volume of text.
As he paused to think, his eyes flicked to the viewer count in the top corner.
It had surpassed 100,000.
Song Bo thought he was hallucinating. He choked on his own saliva, coughing violently. He waved his hands frantically at the camera in apology, before physically diving out of the frame.
In 2018, livestreaming was still in its infancy; it hadn't yet saturated daily life. For a niche motorsport vlogger to casually attract a hundred thousand concurrent viewers at 2:00 AM was absurd.
Wasn't the narrative that F1 had zero cultural footprint in China? That the sport was impossible to market to the mainland?
So what the hell was happening right now?
Song Bo was genuinely terrified.
He was used to meticulously editing videos and uploading them to a passive audience. Suddenly interacting live with a massive stadium's worth of people paralyzed him.
But the panic only lasted a moment. Song Bo crawled back into the frame. Seeing the familiar usernames of his long-time subscribers amidst the chaos, his racing heart began to steady.
"Sorry, sorry. First time streaming. I have no idea what I am doing, please bear with me. What is this stream about? I'm not selling anything, I'm just a racing vlogger."
"Do I know Kai personally? Yes, we are... classmates." Song Bo hesitated, carefully choosing his words. He was terrified of accidentally saying something that could damage Kai's PR image.
Despite his caution, the chat immediately began educating the newcomers. They explained that Song Bo and Kai were close friends. Song Bo had been documenting Kai's journey since his GP3 days, breaking down the technical jargon and tracking his rise. While his channel was barely two years old, it was the undisputed ground zero for Kai's hardcore domestic fanbase.
However, not everyone in the chat was a loyalist. The massive influx of viewers included thousands of casual observers whose entire knowledge of F1 consisted of Weibo trending hashtags.
Following qualifying, Kai had once again dominated the national trending charts. The entire country knew he was fighting for the World Championship.
But that was the extent of their knowledge.
The chat quickly devolved into a mess of demands and trolls. People demanded Song Bo prove his relationship, demanded Kai show his face on camera, while others spammed sarcastic insults about Ferrari's pace.
Song Bo saw the toxicity, but chose to ignore it entirely. He wasn't going to waste his energy feeding the trolls.
He stayed focused on the race.
"What is Kai doing right now? He should still be at the track. Yes, even after qualifying, the engineers have hours of telemetry debriefs to get through."
"Tomorrow is the race. Yes, the main event."
"First, the start. Turn 1 and the first sector are absolutely critical; there are massive overtaking opportunities there. Second, tire strategy. Barring a safety car, it should be a one-stop race, which means the strategy window is incredibly narrow. The exact timing of the pit stop and the tire compound choices will dictate the entire race."
"Ah, yes, I am in Abu Dhabi right now! I'll be in the grandstands tomorrow. I wouldn't miss the season finale for the world."
He rambled on, lacking a clear structure or theme.
He had no grand plan for the stream; he just wanted to share his nervous excitement with the void.
Suddenly, the door to the hotel suite clicked open. Song Bo instinctively looked up. He froze.
"Boss!"
The livestream chat instantly detonated.
"Who?!"
"Boss? Kai?!"
"No way. The main character has arrived."
"Where is he?! Show him!"
"Nice acting. Is this scripted?"
"Is this real? Stop joking around!"
"Who is it?!"
The chat erupted with the force of a volcanic eruption.
Yet, in the physical room, there was complete silence. All the chaos was contained within the small digital screen.
Song Bo completely forgot about the hundred thousand people watching him. He stood up and walked away from the phone, leaving the frame completely empty.
The chat descended into absolute madness.
The viewer count was skyrocketing exponentially, but Song Bo couldn't care less.
"Doctor!" Kai grinned brightly, walking over and lightly punching Song Bo in the shoulder. "Still awake? Good kids should be in bed by now."
Song Bo was used to the teasing. "Worry about yourself! You have the biggest race of your life tomorrow. Shouldn't you be resting and conserving your energy?"
"Haha." Kai laughed casually. "It is just another race. I've survived two seasons of this; there's no need to overthink it. Just treat it like a normal Sunday."
Song Bo couldn't help it; he started giggling. "Only you. The rest of the world is having a collective panic attack, and you're acting like you're going for a Sunday drive. I guess that's why they pay you the big bucks."
Kai looked at him. "You shouldn't let the pressure make you nervous. You should let the challenge make you excited. Anyway, I just wanted to say goodnight to my parents and Auntie and Uncle before I crashed."
Song Bo nodded rapidly. "Yeah, you've had a brutal day. Did you just get back from the track?"
Kai let out a long breath. "Yeah, endless debriefs—"
Seeing Kai settling in for a chat, Song Bo suddenly remembered the digital mob waiting on his phone. He awkwardly interrupted. "Ah... I'm actually livestreaming right now."
Kai blinked, then quickly caught on, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. "Ah, apologies. Did I interrupt the professional broadcaster? Do I need to apologize to your audience?"
Before Song Bo could stop him, Kai walked over to the sofa and crouched down in front of the phone, flashing a brilliant smile at the camera.
"Hey everyone, I'm Kai. Please make sure you hit subscribe and support the Doctor."
BOOM!
The livestream servers nearly melted. Wang Lin literally screamed and dropped his phone off the bed.
Within hours, that specific moment violently breached containment. It swept across the Chinese internet like a tsunami. The screenshot of Kai leaning into the frame, grinning brightly, instantly became a viral meme, flooding every major social media platform.
It was dubbed the "Breaking the Fourth Wall Moment."
While Song Bo's connection to Kai was known within the hardcore racing community, Song Bo had never actively flaunted it, and Kai had never once appeared on camera in any of his videos.
Until now.
Kai, a figure who existed solely on television broadcasts, battling in a distant, glamorous world of European billionaires and global superstars, had just shattered the barrier. He had casually strolled into a raw, unfiltered livestream to say hello.
It was completely unscripted, and one hundred percent genuine.
The livestream app temporarily crashed. Weibo trending charts were completely hijacked. The insomniac racing fans threw a digital block party that raged until dawn, leaving the sensible fans who had gone to sleep early waking up to an entirely altered reality, feeling utterly abandoned.
Kai didn't linger on the stream. He stood up and patted Song Bo on the shoulder. "Alright, Mr. Broadcaster, I won't interrupt your flow. Carry on."
Song Bo watched Kai walk away, awkwardly scratching his head in front of the camera. He looked back at his phone to see the chat scrolling so fast it was just a continuous blur of white text.
He could practically feel the heat radiating from the server overload.
Kai walked over to his parents' suite and knocked lightly. Entering, he found the living room empty. The bathroom light was on, the sound of running water echoing softly. Out on the balcony, bathed in the pale starlight, he saw the silhouette of his father gazing out over the desert.
Kai walked out onto the balcony.
Lu Cheng remained silent. He noticed Kai approaching and opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He returned his gaze to the horizon.
Kai leaned against the railing, a soft smile touching his lips. "Nervous?"
Lu Cheng hesitated. "Yeah."
He let out a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "Kai, when I was younger, I used to have these grand daydreams. I imagined I was the protagonist of a manga. I convinced myself that my racing dreams only died because of money, that my talent was just dormant. I told myself that if someone just gave me a chance, I could stand at the top of the world."
"But looking at all of this now... I realize that was just arrogant wishing."
"I am terrified right now. I am so incredibly nervous. I'm just standing in the paddock watching, and my heart feels like it's going to explode. I can barely breathe."
"Honestly, even if someone had handed me the keys to an F1 car back then, I probably would have failed. Some things are just destined from the start. We end up exactly where we are supposed to be for a reason."
"And that includes you."
Lu Cheng turned to look at his son. His face still held the softness of youth, but his eyes projected an unstoppable, razor-sharp edge.
It made Lu Cheng smile.
"You got here entirely on your own strength. I never truly helped you. You are not—and you never should be—fighting to fulfill my broken dreams. You are your own man, fighting for your own legacy. The only thing I can do is stand on the sidelines, wave the flag, and try not to hold you back."
It was a profound, deeply vulnerable admission from a man who usually projected quiet strength.
Although Lu Cheng rarely spoke of it, Kai knew the truth. Standing on the grid at the Yas Marina Circuit, watching his son fight for the World Championship, was the exact manifestation of the dream Lu Cheng had buried decades ago.
He was not sprinting toward the finish line alone.
Kai looked at his father with absolute sincerity. "No, you did help me. Remember? You helped me hide my underground street racing from Mom."
Lu Cheng blinked, caught off guard. He burst out laughing, quickly glancing back toward the bathroom door. "Shh!" But his eyes were shining brightly.
Lu Cheng took a breath and asked the same question. "Are you nervous?"
Kai shook his head. "No."
Lu Cheng's smile fully bloomed. They didn't need to say anything else. They stood side-by-side, looking out at the vast, impenetrable darkness of the desert. At the edge of the world lay the unknown. Until you physically step into the void, no one can truly comprehend the landscape, no matter how wild their imagination.
Tomorrow, Kai would have to rely on his own two feet. He had to keep running, tear through the fog, shatter the darkness, and reach the other side to see the view for himself.
The paddock was an endless sea of noise, political warfare, and suffocating heat. But in this quiet moment on the balcony, the chaos faded away. There was only the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. A fleeting moment of absolute tranquility amidst the storm.
After a few minutes, Kai exhaled softly. "Dad, I'm going to head back to my room and crash."
As Kai turned around, he found Jiang Mo standing by the sliding glass doors, holding a towel.
She had been standing there quietly, keeping her distance, refusing to interrupt the rare moment between father and son.
Over the past year, their entire world had been turned upside down. The velocity of their lives was terrifying. It felt like the season opener in Melbourne was only yesterday, and in the blink of an eye, they had arrived at the ultimate finale. The chaos felt both incredibly vivid and entirely surreal. They all needed a moment to process the journey.
You can only find the strength to keep pushing forward if you never forget the reason you started.
Jiang Mo looked at Kai. Her maternal instinct screamed at her to offer a dozen pieces of nagging advice—to eat properly, to sleep well, to drive safely. It was hardwired into her DNA.
But this time, she swallowed every single word.
She would always worry about him. To the world, he was a ruthless, generational talent tearing apart the F1 establishment. But to her, he was just her son.
However, Kai was a man now. He was forging an empire with his own two hands. She needed to learn how to let go, to step back and simply be his foundation.
Instead of lecturing him, Jiang Mo stepped forward and, completely out of character, wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.
Kai froze in surprise, before laughing softly. "Mom, it looks like you're fully adapting to the Italian culture."
The teasing remark made Jiang Mo blush slightly. She swatted him lightly on the back. "Smartass."
"Ah!" Kai let out an exaggerated yelp of pain in protest.
Jiang Mo pulled back, trying to maintain a stern expression, but the warmth in her eyes betrayed her. A fond smile touched her lips. "I hear rumors that Kai is the terrifying Demon King of the paddock. Do they have any idea how much of a brat you are in private?"
Kai widened his eyes in mock horror. "Mom! You're reading the F1 tabloids?!"
Looking at her completely unserious son, Jiang Mo finally relaxed. The heavy, suffocating anxiety vanished.
She looked him in the eye. "I believe in you."
Kai paused.
Jiang Mo patted his shoulder, refusing to make it a heavy emotional moment. "You have your own routine, don't let us disrupt it. Go wash up and get some sleep. You have a big day tomorrow."
Kai's smile radiated pure confidence. "Yes, ma'am!"
He turned and bounded toward the door, his steps light and energetic.
"Make sure you say goodnight to Auntie Qiaomu!" Jiang Mo called after him.
She watched his tall, lean silhouette disappear down the hall. He kept his weight strictly managed for the car, making him look deceptively fragile. Yet he had grown into a titan, capable of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But in these quiet moments, his playful spirit shone through, proving he was still the exact same boy she had raised.
Her son had grown up. She should be happy.
She believed in Kai. With a conviction stronger than ever before.
Jiang Mo quietly straightened her posture. She was ready to face whatever storm tomorrow brought.
Back in the living room, Song Bo watched Kai jog past, disappear into the other bedroom to say goodnight to Song Yan and Zhang Qiaomu, and then reappear, breezing toward the front door.
"Doctor, no all-nighters! Get some sleep. Don't get too hyped up," Kai called out as he left.
Song Bo was too stunned to formulate a coherent response. He just raised a hand. "—Goodnight!"
When he looked back down at the livestream, the chat was exploding with such ferocity it was actively crashing his app. Song Bo stared in shock, before finally bursting into helpless laughter.
Kai had literally tossed a lit match into a fireworks factory and casually walked away. Millions of people across the Chinese mainland were going to be aggressively sleep-deprived tomorrow.
And he was right.
It wasn't just the hardcore netizens. Mainstream media titans like CCTV-5 and Great Sports were operating at maximum capacity through the night. Formula One was receiving an unprecedented level of national prioritization.
Despite having worked non-stop for twenty-four hours without eating a proper meal, Shi Yiying didn't feel an ounce of fatigue. Instead, a torrential surge of adrenaline fueled her every movement. Her steps were light, her mind razor-sharp.
It all started as a faint glimmer of hope, a wild theory born in the winter. But in just six months, it had grown into a towering redwood.
Who could have possibly predicted that a young, unknown street racer would legitimately threaten the unshakeable hegemony of Lewis Hamilton and Mercedes? That he would author some of the most spectacular moments in modern racing history, single-handedly resurrecting the dormant motorsport passion of China, and by extension, all of Asia?
She certainly hadn't. Not even her wildest, most romantic journalistic fantasies had dared to predict this reality.
Yet, here they were. Standing on the precipice of the grand finale of a truly epic adventure.
The documentary co-produced by CCTV and Great Sports earlier in the year was suddenly back in massive demand, trending across all platforms. The general public was desperately trying to catch up, eager to join Kai on his historic crusade. This turbulent, dreamlike season was culminating in the ultimate showdown, and the media was fully prepared to capitalize. They were ready to use Kai's momentum to permanently elevate the cultural status of motorsport in the country.
This was bigger than just one championship.
In an unprecedented move, Great Sports had scheduled a massive, eight-hour live F1 marathon broadcast. They planned to meticulously recap the entire 2018 campaign, dissect the brutal tactical war between Ferrari and Mercedes, and trace Kai's miraculous rise from an unknown rookie to a global superstar. They would break down the telemetry and the politics, ensuring that even casual viewers tuning in for the first time would fully grasp the sheer gravity of the Abu Dhabi decider.
And it was all because of the young man who had smiled so brightly in the spring sunshine, radiating an unstoppable, blinding confidence.
Shi Yiying was exhausted, yes. But her spirit was soaring.
Formula One was standing at the threshold of an unprecedented era. For the first time in over two decades, since the legendary Ayrton Senna, the sport was on the verge of crowning a non-European World Champion. It wasn't just Asia watching; North America, South America, and Oceania were all fixated on Yas Marina, desperate to witness the birth of a new global icon.
Tonight, none shall sleep.
"——Welcome, viewers, to the CCTV Sports Channel——"
"We are broadcasting live from the Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi——"
"——The 2018 season has reached its ultimate climax! Mercedes and Ferrari are locked in a battle for the Constructors' Championship, while Lewis Hamilton and Kai fight for the ultimate prize: The Drivers' World Championship."
"The battle lines were drawn in Qualifying. Mercedes and Ferrari have locked out the first two rows. Hamilton and Kai will start side-by-side on the front row——"
"——Before the lights have even gone out, we have already witnessed history. Kai has systematically shattered every single rookie record ever held by Lewis Hamilton. He has eclipsed every 'youngest driver' milestone previously held by Max Verstappen. Every conceivable record now bears his name. And tomorrow, he takes aim at the ultimate prize——"
The atmosphere was chaotic, deafening, and absolute magic.
Television networks, print magazines, independent vloggers, and digital platforms swarmed every available inch of the paddock, broadcasting live to every corner of the globe.
The circuit was a sea of humanity.
It wasn't just the hardcore fans. The global elite had descended upon the desert. Rumors circulated that Bernard Arnault, the CEO of LVMH, had personally flown in to watch the decider alongside his son, Frédéric.
Outside of Monaco, the paddock had never seen this level of concentrated celebrity wattage. Hollywood A-listers were wandering the grid like tourists. Will Smith, Leonardo DiCaprio, Jennifer Lawrence, Margot Robbie—the paparazzi camera flashes strobed relentlessly.
The professional racing community was equally captivated.
Following his coronation as the F2 Champion, George Russell was spotted holding court in the Mercedes garage. Lando Norris, riding high after a brilliant Abu Dhabi feature race secured him second in the F2 standings, was seen laughing with Zak Brown at McLaren.
Despite missing out on the F2 runner-up spot, Alex Albon remained a prominent fixture in the Red Bull garage.
And in a move that set the rumor mill ablaze, Anthoine Hubert, fresh off securing the GP3 World Championship by defeating Nikita Mazepin, was spotted deep in conversation inside the Renault garage.
The heat was rising. The pressure was absolute. The eyes of the entire world, accompanied by thousands of blinding spotlights, were focused entirely on the Yas Marina asphalt.
Formula One had reclaimed its throne as one of the three biggest sporting spectacles on the planet, pushing the aura of luxury and visceral danger to its absolute maximum limit.
The stage was set.